


Resist

by Alex_Chesterfield



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Gen, Kidnapping, Resistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13318014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Chesterfield/pseuds/Alex_Chesterfield
Summary: No. No no no no no no no no.He’s been Integrated.God damn it, he’s been Integrated.





	Resist

He wakes, and he chokes on blood and saliva, straining to expel the fluid from his throat and his lips. His entire body convulses, and he looks down when he feels viscous liquid draining not from his lips, but directly from his throat. He strains to touch his fingers to his throat, but they are bound to either side of him, and he cannot move his head. He can only move his eyes. He shakes. He gasps. He cannot see, but his eyes are open. They’ve always been open. He can’t blink.

Suddenly, his vision flickers before him. The room before him is dark, filled with pipes and machinery. The bindings around his arms suddenly release, and he drops to the floor in a crumple, the floor beneath him clattering with the sound of it. Fluid oozes from his throat. He brings his fingers to the tendons of his neck, and looks down at his fingers.

Oil. It’s not blood. It’s oil.

His fingers are metal bone. His arm–  _his arms_ – are sheets of metal over wires. He touches his chest. Metal. His head. Metal.

No. No no no  _no no no no no_.

He’s been Integrated.

God damn it, he’s been  _Integrated_.

He wants to hyperventilate, but the task is impossible with no lungs in which to do so. The coughing prior had been a mere instinctual reaction– an instinct that was now inessential in order to survive. He tried holding his breath– shockingly, he didn’t feel himself panic at the thought. There was no risk of suffocation. He had no reason to fear.

Somehow, he found, his eyes still blinked– for what reason, he was not sure yet. To focus? To recalibrate? Integrated were seldom spoken of, and understood even less on a widescale basis. He had no idea how this new body worked. He didn’t even remember his  _name_ –

A flash of red light startled him, and there was only static in his voice as he flinched and scrambled back. Above the door leading out of this room was a great round monitor, a single red optic device leering down. The screen flickered, and a low, mechanical voice awoke.

“Integration 1,576,322,969– welcome. You have been in post-brain transfer stasis for 97 days.”

Jesus!

“Your unit designation is 327-SS-19.”

Something in his wires, at the sound of those numbers, cause him to leap to his feet– jolted him to attention against his will. Even as a machine… he could still process pain. The electricity that ran through his wires was like being shot in the arm, and yet, still, all that came from his vocal processor was static.

“As an Integrated machine, you will be responsible for sustaining human society from the shadows. Today’s population numbers over 16 billion, and this number increases every day. Integrations are the backbone of human life, and their duties can vary from janitorial duty, to working in the food industry, to construction, and even maintaining a healthy home environment. Your role will be a prime example of human intelligence and engineering, and pioneering towards a more sustainable, relaxing future.”

He looked around, until he found a broken bolt on the dusty floor, and tossed it at the monitor, hard, hissing and spitting static.

“Please do not attack me,” the eye on the monitor begged, the monotone voice almost working up some facsimile of hurt. “You have been given a gift. You no longer suffer from basic human needs, such as hunger or lust. You have been freed.”

Out of the pan and into the fire, more like. He paced across the floor as the monitor continued to speak to him, barely registering most of its likely pre-recorded words.

Integrated lost everything. Their homes, their families, their jobs, their dreams. More likely than not, he had been transported far, far away from sweet little Lansford, North Dakota, and he would have no chance to explain what had happened. He wouldn’t be able to speak with his pregnant wife. He wouldn’t be able to kneel down to his six year old daughter and explain that this world was cruel, and snatched people up without rhyme or reason and no one could do a damn thing.

No one even tried anymore. It was just the reality of this existence. If you were chosen, that was it. That was the end. There were speculations, of course, on who was more likely to be chosen; the mentally and physically disabled, homosexuals, low grade graduates, but in the end, it really did just seem to be unfortunate chance.

And, in his own case,  _very_  unfortunate chance.

“… have been assigned housekeeping duty in the city of: Lansford, North Dakota.”

He froze in his pacing, vision snapping up to the red glow of the monitor. No. No way. Surely, he had to have misheard. There was just no way. The chance was just way too slim.  _Housekeeping_ , in his own hometown.

“In T-minus thirty seconds, you will be released into Lansford, North Dakota, and will be given your first cleaning assignment by the Integrated Overseer for this county. You will proceed down the hall, and make an immediate left at the first opportunity. Thank you for your contributions towards a brighter, safer, more human-friendly world.”

He prepared himself, backing up as far away from the door as he could. He had no idea what awaited him on the other side. He almost didn’t want to know.

But now, he had a goal: find his family. Explain the situation. Beg for help. Because he was here, he was  _home_ , surely, that meant he could do  _something_. He had to be able to escape from this hell.

The monitor flickered. There was fifteen seconds left.

He wouldn’t go get his assignment. He would find his way out, and run. And he would not stop, until he made it home. And he would knock on the door (because scaring his family was the last thing he wanted to do) and he would explain to them…

Explain how? His voice… God damn it, his voice! How was he supposed to articulate who he was if he couldn’t even speak! Or remember his name, for that matter! Damn it! He banged his metal fist on the wall, and looked upon his reflection in horror. All his face was was two eyes and a painted smile.

He didn’t even  _look_  like the father of his children anymore.

His shoulders drooped, his head falling even farther…

And then the door slid open, and he bolted.

White, reflective walls gleamed at him from all directions, disorienting him. He ignored that first left, and continued to run forwards.

“… 327-SS-19. Cease your resistance.”

Another electric shock ran through his wires, and more static was all that came from his screaming, but still, he ran. He stumbled at the pain, but he did not stop. There was a door ahead of him, and he braced for impact, but it slid open anyways. Did they not have a lockdown system? Surely, others had tried to escape before him, right?

It was only a fleeting thought as he continued to dart blindly around each corner he came across, following exit signs to the best of his ability. When the wind and sun finally hit him, he processed its existence, but he did not _feel_ it. He knew it was there, and he could see the sun in his optics, and the waving branches of bioluminescent trees, but there was no warmth from the light, or shiver from the breeze. There was the sound of panting emanating from his lungs, but with a non-pliant chest, the wheezing was unnaturally frightening.

Did he know where he was?  Lansford, North Dakota, that much was apparent, but where. It was a small town; surely, he could find his way home before something happened. Without further thought or consideration, the bot broke into a sprint once again, distancing himself from the great towering factory that manufactured the Integrated.

 

* * *

 

It was several hours before he stumbled across streets he knew, though with the haze of static in his optics, it was difficult to piece together the houses and the people who lived in them in his mind. His family… they  _had_  to be someplace close by. He knew these street names, but north and south, left and right, was all a haze, as if his thinking processes had become dyslexic.

The humans which passed him by gave him strange looks, but for the most part kept to themselves. Humans rarely, if ever, interacted directly with the Integrated. It was a curse, after all– a curse to be ripped from your own body and stripped of any and all identity. The common fear was that associating yourself with them marked you down for future collection. Best to leave the robots to their duty, and to pretend they didn’t exist at all.

He had been wandering for perhaps two hours, before there was the tell-tale sound of bomb sirens. Of course… those sirens weren’t used for bombs anymore. They were used for escaped Integrations.

Without glancing behind him, he darted around a corner, red lights flashing in his mind. Whether it was warning him to cease his resistance, or it was a simple remnant of his human mind, there was no time to question.  _Family_. It was the one word that shrieked in every corner of his processor.  _Family_.

A dog barked at him as he darted through a lawn not his own, just barely on a chain short enough to prevent it from latching on to his leg. Still, the snarl startled him, and he stumbled, tearing up clumps of grass with feet that could not understand the gentle sensitivity of the earth. The wind rushing through his system was a mere annoyance, just another thing to slow him down. And as he ran though this town of brick and wood houses, all metal parts clanging with each broken step, he slowly came to wonder if, really, even with his mind intact, if there was really any humanity left in him.

The bot came to a swift halt as a police cruiser raced around the corner in front of him, sirens blaring and blinding him with their shine. Defensively, he held up a hand, cringing at the blaring speakers: “Cease your resistance. Resign peacefully. Lay down on the ground with your hands above your head.”

He shook his head, still in denial that there was no hope at all. This was his home. This was his home. Damn it, he knew this place! Where was his house?

His vision darted to his left, downhill, and a shrill beep left his vocalizer.  _That cracked chimney! Yes! Home!_  His wife, she would know. She would understand. And if not her, he prayed, begged, to any higher being, that at least his daughter would take pity for the poor robot.

A taser-wire flew past his side, and he jolted out of his shocked musings, sprinting away from the cruiser as fast as his mechanical legs would allow him. Twenty, twenty five miles an hour, with no muscles or tendons to restrict the speed in which his legs could move, only gravity itself, he flew downhill, nearly flying with how quickly his small body darted down. A quick glance over his shoulder, once at the bottom, showed the police cruiser creeping over the edge, preparing to take the climb down itself.

Time was wasting. The clock was ticking. There was no time to be polite about his entrance; if the door was unlocked, he would charge in. If the door was locked, he would break in. He took note of the time in his optical sensors; 4:23. Yes, they would be home. His wife, his dear wife, and sweet little Tara. They would be home. He had a chance.

The door was locked. A broken, “Shit!” managed to be heard from the underused vocalizer. The bot braced himself, head down and shoulder protruding. With a static cry, he flung himself into the door, splintering the wood, but it was not yet enough. From inside the house, there was a startled squeal.

“Mommy?!”

He thrust forwards again, and this time, the wood shattered, sending the bot tumbling onto the floor. The little girl, who had been sitting in front of the TV, shrieked, curling in on herself and backing towards a corner.

 _Tara_. The bot called out her name, but there was no sound, just white noise. He reached out a hand towards her, just as her mother came rushing around the corner. Upon seeing the bot herself, the woman screamed, swinging a broom down at him.

“What are you doing!? Get out! Get out, this is my house!  _Out!_ ”

His wife… his wife, damnit! Her name! What was her name!? Linda… Linda, Lacy, Lucy… shit! Lily? No! He forced himself to his feet slowly, arms extended in a universal motion of submission. He waved his hands gently– no no, he meant no harm– and moved towards the coffee table. When he attempted to reach for a family portrait, the broom passed over his arm, breaking his left hand into bolts and shards of metal.

It was the lack of pain that sent him to his knees at that, vision blurring in confusion and fright. Lynn? Not Lynn, damn it– Leslie?  _Why couldn’t he remember!?_

He tried again, to reach for one of the family portraits. His wife continued to hold the broomstick high, but only watched with tense arms this time, waiting to attack. Her protruding stomach, with the child that would never know what its father truly looked like, made her seem even more powerful than he knew her to be.

With his right hand, he picked up one of the shattered frames, having been broken when she had swung the broom. He shoved the portrait desperately towards her, pointing to the man on the left– a man in his late thirties, with a fire-red beard and lake-blue eyes.

But his wife misunderstood. She faked him out with the broom, lower lip trembling in rage. “I don’t know where he is,” she hissed, and the bot shook his head wildly.

Louis, Lexie, Laina– _fuck!_  The bot groaned, and that sound at the very least made it through, but only earned him a whack across the head with the broom. His vision flickered, and then next he knew, he was being tackled to the ground from behind. Tara was crying to his right, and cuffs were being snapped onto his wrists.

No! No no no! He was here, this was his home, his wife, his child! He struggled beneath them, another whack another reward for his troubles. By now, his vision was blinking in and out, and the connections to his limbs were beginning to weaken, the batteries in his processor obviously being jostled out of place.

Liza… _Liza_ …

“… L-Lisa!” he cried out, looking up towards the woman now cradling her six year old child close. At the sound of her name, her face paled. “Lisa! Lisa,  _please!_  It– It’s me, it’s–!”

Another attack. He blinks. His eyes are open, but he cannot see. He cannot hear. Viscous liquid drains from his throat, onto the rug. His body convulses with an electric jolt.

“Lisa–”

Everything goes blank, and black.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: <http://chesterfield-ramblings.tumblr.com/>
> 
> Twitter: <https://twitter.com/AlexChester_X_>
> 
> Instagram: <https://www.instagram.com/alexchester_x_>


End file.
